Objects of their Affection
by Unemployable
Summary: FFVI-You have precious items, don't you? Those irreplacable objects, with odd stories and origins. Well, you're not the only ones with things to cherish or hate. A series of random oneshots.
1. Fake Moustache

Strago gave her a small object that was about the size of a throwing dart.

"Gramps, I don't need a gag present."

A reply came quickly.

"Relm, I don't give out gifts for jokes."

"It's still a gag present." She handed what she had received back to her grandfather.

"Look," he gripped the item and raised it to the point that it was level with his shoulders, "I found it during our journeys, but forgot to give it to you. It's a rare artifact that was created-"

"That! People bothered to make a rare fake moustache that's rare? I wonder kind of time they had…" She took it back from him and let her fingers run through the hairs of the hair slowly to inspect the texture.

It was true that in Relm's hand was faux facial hair-thick, brown and somehow not falling apart in her fingers.

Strago had continued to speak without giving justification to Relm's question. He, of course, had lived with her since she was just a toddler, and knew how to deal with her, which was by strategically ignoring her foolish and strange talk. He didn't have an answer anyway. "This may help you when we reach Kefka's Tower."

"This is fake hair that I'll end up putting above my lip! I'm a girl, _I shouldn't have facial hair_! It will just make Kefka and everyone else mock me!"

"That is not its only use. If you would bother to check, you would find it has magical properties."

"I might believe you, because I've seen some pretty crazy things. But it makes me look pathetic. I don't understand how I can use it for some type of problem _other_ than improving my comedic power? But what will it do?"

Strago nodded. He added a slight chuckle, which irked his granddaughter. "I'm not sure, but I _am_ positive that I've been trying to stop this laugh throughout this conversation every time I think about you wearing that above your mouth-"

"Do you _want_ me to take it?" She interjected while holding up the topic of conversation with her index finger and thumb, "'Cause I could easily put this on Terra's face the next time she's taking a nap..."

"It can easily be returned to you."

"I'll sell it...I'll get a good amount of money for an enchanted item."

"They won't believe you if it isn't a merchant in Thamasa, and even they won't know what its use is."

"Damn, you're right. Then I can burn it!"

"It could be flame retardant." Strago had been exceptionally good at playing Relms' smart-ass games for the past few days.

"I'll throw it down the next dark, bottomless pit we encounter! I don't want to wear this stupid moustache!"

"It's a wise decision and it will benefit you if you just keep it. There's no point in trying to dispose of it if it could help you..."

Relm realized she needed to save herself from the "wise decision" speech, which had come up at least fifteen times in her life. It was the same the theme every time, but in different words. She needed to stop the lectures that would occur tommorrow, the next day, and the day after that if she said yes but never followed through with what she said. As an added bonus, Relm would then get a lecture on keeping your part of a promise or keeping true to what you say. Oh, she had definitely gotten those speeches before...

"I'll take it then," She added the next phrase to please her grandfather, "And I'll use it."

The young girl walked away, heading for the Falcon's kitchen, and evading the second part of the "wise decisions" speech. That section was about thinking things through. Most of the time, Relm had witnessed the merging of the end of that lecture with both the "responsibility" and "knowledge" talks, which was quite a test for her patience. If she let her annoyance show too much she would have to listen to a one-sided conversation about "patience", too.


	2. Banner

_Good day, citizens of our planet. I am Unemployable, your writing waitress today, as I was perhaps a few days ago. If not, I must apologize for my lack of courtesy. Well, I must apologize anyway. __You see, I do not own this game, therefore I cannot claim copyright to the characters, places, or any single thing that was created for the game Final Fantasy VI and I regret not mentioning it before_. _Do I even own the words of this piece? I guess not, but I would still like to thank you if you read the last chapter, or plan to read this one. Love to thank you if you felt compelled to send me a review (which is just Radia, at this moment). _

**_Banner_**

_In the viewpoint of Lock Cole_

There are red banners everywhere, and I ponder if she sees them as we walk by. I'm doubtful, because we've been occupied by fighting beasts that Kefka has put in here just for us.

Four of us navigate through an area with metal bolted walls, which seems similar to a factory that would be in Vector. I know we are in Vector boundaries, but Kefka has completely changed this place. He took the destroyed pieces of the area after the apacolypse and combined it to form one large tower.

I check to my right _again_ to see if she's acting abnormally. It's the tenth time I've looked, but that doesn't matter. She hasn't said anything about this place, just walks stoically next to me, gripping the hilt of her sheathed sword.

My head is still turned when I don't realize it, and she silently questions "Why are you staring at me?" with the look on her face.

"Sorry," I rub my neck, coming up with an excuse that she won't think is odd. "I think I pulled a muscle near my neck."

She gives me a quiet "Oh" as a response.

Setzer and Shadow, who are also with us, without a warning, stop; then they turn around to face us. The ninja's eyes stare at something I can't see as the gambler speaks:

"There's a fork in the path. Want me to toss a coin?"

I hesitate in confusion, but speak up, "That doesn't make sense. There's only two sides on a coin, and three other paths to choose from. Or are we going to have a tournament, with rounds?"

"As much as I enjoy eliminations, I admit that I was just making sure that not only you can physically survive, but you can make intelligent decisions," Setzer replies with an additional smirk.

"Uh-huh. We don't want my mind to slowly-"

"So we check the left path first," Shadow calmly interjects.

Setzer and I nod our heads in agreement. Before we start going ahead, the three of us just scan the area quickly, giving it a short check for any beasts. It's devoid of life.

"Wait." The word resonates throughout the area.

"Sure," I say. There's no real harm in waiting.

When I first turn around, I thought she was just adjusting her armor. Then I realize she's observing the wall, but I don't know what's on the wall other than metal and bolts and...

Those banners. Celes' transfixed on a black-on-scarlet banner from the Ghestalian Empire. I guess she's thinking about the past, and those bastards that raised her and screwed up her life. I really don't know; the girl's unpredictable.

Now, I'm only a few feet behind her as she closes the distance between herself and the wall. I'm surprised as the ropes suspending the tapestry catch burn with fire for a second, but she hastily yanks her runic sword from its sheath. Easily, it is absorbed by the engravings on the weapon, and what used to be supported plunges to the floor with a soft "flunk".

She turns to me when the blood-red like cloth is in her arms, "Can you hold two of these corners for me, and could I borrow one of your knives?"

That's an odd request. I give her a knife for whatever reason she needs it and hold the banner and hold the golden tassels hanging off of the corners.

Down the center of the fabric, she splits it into halves with my knife. Celes takes both strips, drops them on the ground in an unkempt way to make the crimson red turn into black. Ashes. I just stare in disbelief, and watch the fire burn.

Why is she doing _that_? It's symbolic of her hatred of the area where she was born, I know that. But why now, when we have a mad man to hunt down and kill? I wouldn't know.

After the fire has died, she burns the ashes, too.


	3. Sword

_I own no characters, plot or anything that is actually legally owned by Square-Enix. Despite this, I feel the need to thank anyone who has bothered to read these weird, maybe crazy stories-especially Valkyrie Celes, and Triad who both felt that it was important enough to tell me their opinions. _

_Please excuse me for this strange experimentation. If you like it, tell me, and if you hate it, tell me. I would like know, even though this will never happen again. _

**Sword**

Cyan had received the sword in honor of the twenty-seven years he had served his country. The people of Doma had always celebrated that number; it had appeared many times in their lore, such as it was the amount of people that made the difference in the major war against the Cloations, the amount of years the War of the Magi had lasted according to scholars in the castle, and the number of rocks their god Ainan had used to create their land.

He could vividly remember that proud day, especially the moment when his lord had handed him the sword. The very moment he touched the hilt, he knew it wouldn't be hanging on his wall. In fact, it would be a complete waste for him to not use it in a battle. The famous Doman bladesmith, Masara XV, and the expert blade polisher, Iuono V, had both left their famous seals on the hilt.

Cyan did use it, and still fought with it, long after his country fell to the Geshtalian Empire. Its daily use told him that he was fighting for a certain part of the world, not just for his comrades.

And then he made a mistake in a Narshean tundra. It was a rash mistake, a human mistake, but it was still made, and could not be taken back.

"'Tis irreversible," He muttered to himself at the conclusion of the battle and after he knew what was lost.

Due to the presence of a little more than ten fighters, the dragon fell without problem. As it was being skinned for its precious scales by multiple people, Cyan was not apart of this group. He stood alone, musing about bladesmiths that might repair his blade so it could be in a similar state to when he first received it.

There were several exceptional ones he knew of: the Collins brothers in South Figaro, Keynan in Tzen, Yorne and Gabrielle who took residence in the Figaro Castle. They were all known for their skills at crafting a different type of blade; would any of them be able to fix it? Knowledge of the Doman craft had been dead for two years.

The katana, when he glanced at it again, was deformed. It was not shattered into pieces, but where the blade should have been dangerously sharp, it was flat; Cyan was able to compare it to a hammer head.

Only he was to blame. In the heat of a frigid battle, he had thought it was a good idea to use the power of fire. They were facing one of the of the elemental dragons, the one which seemed to blend with the snow as if it were made of the frozen crystals itself, so it was a logical idea to think of the opposite element.

Not only did he desire to use a fire spell, but he wanted to set his blame aflame. That is what he did as he summoned the powers of Ifrit for his blade to absorb. Once Cyan felt the heat emanating from his weapon, he charged at the dragon, planning to swing and cut at its throat while others comrades were distracting it with their strikes.

When he bent his arms back the first thing it made contact was not the dragon. It never hit the beast; instead the enemy had used an ice spell as a shield, and when his katana hit this barrier, his body was thrown off by the force. He took a step back in attempt to try again, but by that time had noticed that his weapon was blunt.

Angered, Cyan dropped it and took out a dagger he had saved for a situation such as that time. Again, he charged.


	4. Hair

I own no characters, plot or anything that is actually legally owned by Square-Enix. I own nothing, which doesn't matter to me. Well, it does matter legally, but you should know the drill by now.

Would anyone volunteer to beta for me? I'm trying to do my best without any at all, but would love to have one. I don't really qualify for the new beta program at the moment...

This chapter is dedicated to Triad, who wanted me to write a chapter focusing on Terra. Of course, I couldn't say no to a polite request.

* * *

**Hair **

_In the viewpoint of Miss Terra Branford_

I knew Kefka's defeat would change my life in some way. Actually, I thought it would kill me, because I am partially a creature of magic and many other magical creatures were doomed if we killed the man who held all of the magic in the world.

Kefka's dead, but I'm still alive.

Although I am overjoyed because I hated Kefka, I feel different, almost empty. My father, as he was leaving this world for another, spoke to me, "If the human part of you is attached very strongly to something or someone, you may be able to remain in this world as a human. Or you may end up joining us, wherever we go..."

He was right. I am completely human, and have no magic left in my blood. The absence of magic is so...uncomfortable.

As I am thinking about these things, I am running a brush through my hair while staring at myself through a mirror. A thought comes to me, and I find myself bursting through the door of my guest room in Figaro Castle in search of somebody to ask. I hesitate, because maybe nothing is wrong. Maybe it's just the sunlight that's making my usually emerald hair look more like grass.

I turn around, and walk back into the room. My room in this castle _is_ very bright with all of the harsh sunlight pouring in through the windows. It's nothing to give much more than a thought about.

000

Now may be a good time to say something. Dinner is a good time for conversation, I think. I should have said something sooner to anybody, so they could tell me that I'm worrying about is nothing or if what I noticed is true. (Instead of ignoring Sabin when he was staring at my hair this morning, I should have asked him about it...) Now I'm thinking about it so often that I should spit it out.

I think the little wine that I'm drinking is getting to my head, but giving me the courage to say something to Celes.

"Do you think my hair looks lighter?" Celes doesn't give me a confused look when I ask her this, which means that she probably has thought that something about my hair is odd.

"The green does look a few shades off."

"I've noticed that...too."

She glances at me with concern, and then takes a sip of her own wine, the disgusting burgundy kind. "Do you remember when the color started fading?"

"Um...a few days ago."

"It may have something to do with the disappearance of magic. Of course, I don't know, but it sounds like that may be the cause."

Her theory is the same as my own guess, which is that the color of my hair was affected by my non-human powers. It's an odd way to think of things, to say that my hair color was a clue to my abnormality.

The conversation quickly dies after she asks me if it's irritating me. I lie that everything is fine. It shouldn't be that big of a deal.

000

The day I return to Mobliz is the day I say goodbye to my allies, my greatest friends.

It is also the day the green in my hair has completely faded into white, like my father's. As it gradually changed everyday, I felt shocked and bothered, but now I've almost accepted it as normal. It's the only way I've changed, and everyone has helped me ignore it by pretending nothing is odd. Setzer was the only one that pointed it out but to joke about it, claiming that we could be mistaken as siblings, which I found a little funny.

I'm nervous as I knock on the door of the house that Katarin, Duane, and the kids hide in. For as split second, I'm worried that they are hiding somewhere else or they can't hear me knocking, and I don't know about it. The only fact that reassures me is that the guard dogs that I helped train are guarding the same house, and have been barking at my approach.

Whoever opens the door is surprised as I am. "Terra?"

"Matthew?"

"That's just happens to be my name."

"You've become so tall." I'd hate to fuss over it as a mother would, but it's too noticeable. His head has widened a bit and now is a part of a kid whose height was a bit short of my chest the last time I saw him.

"You're so short." He gives a quick but skeptical glance at my hair. In a very gentleman-like manner, he invites me to step inside the house and tells me that everyone's in the usual haven, which is the basement.

As he opens the door to the stone walled room where all of them hide, he pounds on the door once, and then lightly taps on it twice, the signal that means he's one of the group and needs to get inside. Duane unlocks the door and his expression immediately changes from indifference to joy as he sees me. In his happiness, he embraces me, and says he so glad to see that I'm alive.

That's how all the children and Katarin, with her baby, greet me too. I hug back, because I haven't seen them for more than a year. The younger children are then fascinated with my hair; they wonder why the color is such a pure white, and Katarin scolds them because they ask too many questions. With a smile, I explain that it's okay that they're asking. When I tell them why my hair is such a strange color, even the youngest understand and respect the fact that I'm changing. They always have.

000

After I arrive in Mobliz, my hair begins to gain a yellow hue. Each day, it becomes more and more palpable, until seven days pass. By then, each strand is a beautiful honey-blond, similar to my mother's.

The next time Setzer visits me, he's a bit dissapointed we don't look like siblings.


	5. Bracelet

* * *

I own nothing. I write for leisure, not for profit.

* * *

**Bracelet**

_In the POV of Edgar Roni Figaro_

I am noble by birth, and have been for my entire life. Not only am I apart of a long-ruling royal family, but I am the king of a country, and have been for a decade. To be apart of any other niche of society-the working class, poor, or wealthy-is a completely foreign experience. I can understand how one lives in such a way, but I must admit that I am accustomed to people serving me.

I cannot fathom myself living as a commoner would, yet I am among my own, poor, people. I am currently in South Figaro, where Locke is trying to teach me how to blend in. This is incredibly challenging for both him and I, as I am not even aware of the nuances of everyday life; I do not know how to barter with a shopkeeper, prepare food for myself, or tip a bartender correctly.

I've never felt so separated from the life that was always so normal for me. I am a king, yet I am pretending I am not one, in disguise as an adventurer _among my own people_. I feel ashamed that they think that I am with my castle (the one that recently escaped from Kefka and the Gesthalian Empire with it's flawless transportation technology) in an area near Kohligen, but I am heading south, trying to escort this strange girl to Banon, who will know what to do about the situation and will surely convince her to join our desperate cause.

While in the marketplace of South Figaro (where Locke is teaching me how to haggle with shopkeepers), I reach out my hand to pay the blacksmith the 1350 gil he deserves for repairing our armor.

"You'd get a fair price for that piece of jewelry, sir, if that's real." The blacksmith bares his partially rotten teeth at me, while grinning. I don't like the way he's eying my wrist, where one of Figaro's great treasures rests on my skin.

We're not desperate for money, as we have skinned many wild animals and sold their pelts. Why would I discard this for a pocket full of gil? I know that he is not aware of the rarity of this bracelet and its sanctity, but when I look at it, I recall the destiny that was laid out for me when I was born. This man is not aware of my position in this country, and I remind myself of this. I tend to have forgotten this fact, because my first impulse is to remind him that as king, I must honor my ancestors and the possessions they have left behind. This is, in fact, the jewelry first worn by King Riere Iyke Figaro, one of the first kings to come to rule.

I am the King of Figaro, and throughout these last days, I have felt less and less like royalty and more and more like the common hunter, jumping across trains to survive. These rare sapphires connected by the golden links remind me that I'm of a wealthy status; I'm only pretending to be poor as to not draw attention to myself.


End file.
